Under the Weather
by ayjaydee
Summary: Rick starts feeling sick on a mission in Russia. It only gets worse at home. Teamfic. Minor Rick whump.


_So this is my first foray into the Chaos fandom, though I've been a fan of the show since it aired. (Unfortunately I only got to see about four and a half episodes before it was cancelled.) I'm working on another story, but it's much longer and more complicated. So this story is just to test the waters, as it were, before jumping in with both feet._

_I've had a horrible, nasty cold over the past week and this piece developed out of the desire to make someone else feel just as bad as I did. Thus poor Rick had to endure my suffering. But that's okay, because he has a protective team._

* * *

Under the Weather

It started in Russia. Moscow to be exact.

At first, Rick just thought it was the bitter cold that was causing his runny nose. This was his third mission to Russia, and he was really starting to see why the rest of his teammates hated it there. It was frigid and uninviting.

By the time they'd arrived back in the good old U.S. of A., however, the young spy had developed a sore throat and a raging headache. Waiting at the baggage claim with the rest of his team, Rick leaned his head back against the wall behind him. Pressure was building up behind his eyes and he could feel the beginnings of a cough coming on.

To his right, Michael was eyeing him with vague sympathy, while to his left, Billy was looking at him with flat out concern. Casey was avoiding him, keeping a minimum fifteen feet away at all times, where space permitted. ("My system is in perfect balance; I don't need your germs screwing that up.")

Rick closed his eyes, smothering the cough before it could emerge and the barrage of comments could ensue.

The ride home was uncharacteristically quiet. At least, as quiet as it could be with Billy in the car. Rick was just too exhausted to participate in any sort of conversation.

Being back home in his small apartment was heaven after a week and a half in a crappy hotel room with three other men in one of the coldest places on Earth. A quick shower, some half-hearted unpacking, and a barely-eaten sandwich later, Rick was fast asleep.

The next morning, waking up was a nightmare. Pain was exploding behind Rick's eyes from the pressure inside his head and he could barely breathe through his nose. Sitting up dizzily, he squinted against the sunlight streaming in through his window to get a glimpse of his alarm clock. The numbers 10:30 glared back at him in neon green.

_10:30_! Michael was going to kill him. Rick sunk back against his pillows with a groan. He hadn't woken up this late since the last time he had gotten sick, sometime back in college.

Trying hard to push past the thick fog in his brain, Rick fumbled around for his phone before he finally found it on the nightstand next to the clock. Noting the four missed calls, he let out another small groan.

He sent a short message to Michael explaining why he wasn't at the office, assuring the team leader that he hadn't been kidnapped or killed or anything equally as unlikely (though Michael seemed to think these things were common occurrences). He ended the message with the fact that he probably wouldn't be coming in for the next couple of days and then tossed his phone onto the covers beside him.

There was no doubt about it. Rick felt horrible. The fact that he hadn't been this sick in years made it ten times worse.

Feeling cold, he picked up an old blanket his mother had made and given to him ages ago off the end of his bed and wrapped it around himself like a cape. He slowly pried himself off the bed and shuffled towards the small kitchen. Surely he had to have something in there to help him feel better.

Rick shoved things around in his cabinets until he finally found a small bottle of ibuprofen. Well, it wasn't cold medicine but it would have to do until he could find a way to get some from the store. He grabbed a glass of water and downed two of the small pills.

Realizing that he couldn't taste anything, coupled with the fact that he was feeling a little nauseous, Rick decided to forgo eating in favor of hot tea.

Once he settled down on the couch with his mug, Rick flicked through channel after channel of boring television. It was mid-day, there was nothing on, and he was insanely bored. Stopping on a soap opera that looked mildly decent, Rick let his thoughts drift until he was asleep.

He woke four hours later, sweating and coughing until he thought he might hack up a lung. Laying back once his chest finally relaxed, Rick couldn't help but think how much this sucked. Sure, he'd almost bled out in a van in the-middle-of-nowhere Bolivia from a gunshot wound to the leg, but at least he had been mostly unconscious for the better part of that experience. Or, at least, under the influence of some serious painkillers. This, however, was complete torture.

Over the pounding in his head, Rick thought to himself that at the very least he had peace-

_Rap-tap-tap_. Someone was at the door.

-and quiet.

With effort, Rick pushed himself off the couch and made his way over to the door. Peering through the looking glass, he was surprised to see the rest of his team standing in the hallway outside. Pushing the lock aside, Rick wondered why they were here, instead of the office.

Swinging the door open, he took in Michael looking concerned with several files in his arms, Casey looking bored with a small box in his hand, and Billy grinning with a plastic bag in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other.

After a moment's silence, Billy cleared his throat. "Well, are you going to let us in, lad, or should we just conduct our meeting in the hallway?"

Rick looked at him, confused, but he moved aside so they could come in. "What are you guys doing here?" (Though it sounded more like, "Bhut are you guybs booing here?")

Michael winced at the sound of Rick's voice, answering, "We came to catch you up on our latest mission, which by the looks of things," eyeing the young man's disheveled appearance, "you will not be going on. New intel came in this morning."

"We also came to check on you, to make sure you hadn't died or passed out or anything equally as dramatic," Billy added, nudging Michael with his elbow and winking at Rick.

"Yes, well, you don't have the best track record when it comes to illness, Collins, so put a lid on it," Casey asserted from where he was busying himself in the tiny kitchen.

Rick took a few moments to let everything that was happening sink into his foggy brain, while Michael set the files on the coffee table and Billy put the bag and the beer on the bar. After a minute he found his voice again.

"Well, thanks, I guess, though it wasn't really necessary."

Billy shook his head, "You obviously haven't looked in a mirror today, my friend. You look positively horrid. Have you taken any medicine?"

"I didn't have any on hand. All I've taken is a couple ibuprofen and that was this morning."

Casey snorted from where he was filling Rick's teapot with fresh water. "You're becoming more and more like Billy every day." From his tone, Rick knew that wasn't a compliment.

He eyed the older man from his seat at the bar. "I'm surprised you came, Casey."

Casey threw him a glare over his shoulder. "Yes, well, as happy as I am to be at ground zero, someone has to make sure your infection doesn't spread. Fortunately, I happen to be well-versed in the art of tea." Here he tossed Rick the small box he had been holding when they came in. "White tea has been proven to be more effective than green tea at killing bacteria."

"Meanwhile, I picked up some medicine for you at the store as well as some bottles of orange juice," said Billy, producing the items from the bag on the counter as he spoke. "No beer for you tonight! Replenishing your fluids is key."

"Well Martinez, now that we're sure there's no way you can avoid feeling better in the next few days maybe you could join me over here so I can fill you in on the mission." Rick could hear the sarcasm in Michael's voice but upon sitting down on the couch he could see the compassion in his team leader's eyes.

The next couple hours were spent talking about the mission and other assorted topics, until Rick could feel his eyes closing involuntarily during one of Billy's stories. Letting the accented voice wash over him, he could feel his thoughts drifting. Distantly, he heard someone suggest getting him into a more comfortable position. Gentle hands rearranged his limbs until he was lying horizontal on the couch with a couple pillows under his head to help his breathing.

Prying his eyes open one last time, Rick felt a sense of peace and a warmth that had nothing to do with his fever in his chest. And if he noticed Casey tidying up their mess, Billy tucking the blanket around him a little tighter, or Michael passing a cool hand over his forehead and through his hair before heading for the door, Rick never said anything.

* * *

_Like I said, this is just to get a feel for the characters, so please, if something seems wrong, don't hesitate to tell me!_


End file.
